SEO is juuuuust loving this post title. Ask me about my keyword optimization skills!! No, seriously, ask me about them. I’ve dedicated a paragraph to them on my CV.
A few months ago, I came across this beautiful lil red dress from Mango by way of Instagram. It was linen, it had ruffled sleeves, and I was pretty positive it was the most perfect creation on this earth aside from Emma Thompson (and maybe the white cheddar mac n cheese from Trader Joe’s). But the one dent in my master plan to wear it every ensuing day of my life was the price. It was $60 which isn’t a lot in the grand scheme of things but is a lot when you’re the type of person who waits until the ramen is two-for-one at Duane Reade.
So I waited. I stalked that dress for so long and with such ferocity it should probably have taken out a restraining order against me.
Unfortunately, the sale never came—though as my luck would have it, it’s actually discounted right now for $30 and I am peeved—so I started to look for suitable substitutes. I found one at Zara (pictured here) that fit the requirements of being a) red and b) a dress. It’s not linen but it does have funky sleeves, and that’s good enough for me.
I have styled it in truly groundbreaking fashion with some espadrilles that my brother picked out for me for my birthday (by “picked out for me” I mean “picked up off the ground” after I instructed him I wanted them and shoved them in his general direction; by “for my birthday” I mean “four months after my birthday” because my family seldom does anything in a timely manner) (just kidding Ethan I love them a lot) and some red flowers. Because HAVEN’T you heard??? Flowers are the new straw bag.
The finished product makes me look like my name is Marie and I’m about to head to the farmer’s market to peruse the free range gooseberries and/or teach you how to DIY a pillow using only some baker’s twine and modge podge. I’m into it.
Because tbh I’ve always wanted to be the type of person who perches in the doorways of Soho clutching flowers and gazing wistfully into your soul, as if from a photograph in an art museum of a young woman during the 40s entitled “When Will My Husband Return From War?”.